Still Life With Chickens

I don't know what makes me think I can go anywhere.
It is a good thing that truth isn't limited by geography, or awakening by climate, or finding the inner teacher by going through the air in a metal tube, because one thing that I discovered is that after 5 days of not being in control of what food I get, my system went way out of balance.  I slept.  a lot. Lethargy took over in a big way, and my whole body turned into cement once again.  Just when I think the Lyme symptoms are under control, or better yet, have gone away,  a slip in vigilance reminds me that they have not.
Back to being up all night, sleeping during the day, unable to focus or tolerate stress, blah, blah, blah. I remembered that one thing that really helped me to avoid getting poisoned by ticks was keeping chickens.
I said to my spirit companion, "If I go to the dump today and find an acceptable [and free] place to house chickens until I can put together a real coop, I'll get chickens again.
6 new hens are hanging out in my yard now, and I have set the alarm.  This way, I will get up and take care of some people who can't take care of themselves and who also don't speak English.
I missed hearing their conversations, I missed their cheerful little personalities and their business like lack of sense of humor.  It is kind of like having a yard full of frilly town clerks.

after yoga

I realize that the last post was about silence, and then I said nothing for months.  Not that I had nothing to say, just nothing that seemed to matter, and that has not changed.  It's clear, I write this for myself, to hear my own voice.  As a child I was accused of liking the sound of my own voice.  It was brought forward as though it needed to be corrected.  I was supposed to like the sound of someone else's voice maybe?  The sound of silence perhaps, which I have mostly experienced as deafening.
Hoping to bring some friendlier noise into the silence, or actual silence, I embarked on a Yoga teacher training, with no clear end in mind.  This was all in all a good thing, but because there is the word bitch in the title of these posts, I have things I see that again need adjusting.
In the movement from one pose to another, a voice of self competition comes up, pushing past the idea of doing my best, to not doing enough.  Comparing what ashtanga was like for me 15 years ago before I slid down the long dark tube of depression, to what it is now, sometimes feeling as though I am hanging by my fingers over an abyss of decay and rigidity.
Somehow afterwards, I feel full of light and clarity.  The edges of peace are continually assailed by the stories that the ego loves to tell.
One improvement is that I don't feel as though that monologue is my ego specifically, if it is, he [it has a man's voice] is very unoriginal, because everyone who will talk about it is being read the same list of shortcomings.  It isn't enough to bond with anyone in a community of people who are all tormented by the same noise, but instead to look for the ways in which each person is seeking liberation.  It was my first ever experience in what is turning out to be kind of a long life [not complaining about that] of being in a group of people who all, or mostly seemed to want the same kind of improvement.
Not sad about it, but wondering why the hold up?
Well, desire, obviously, craving, attachment, and after all, those things are still alive and well; just trying not to let them steer the vehicle.  [good luck with that] the noise says.
So. still old, stiff, craving chocolate, wishing I were young enough to fall in love, dreaming I can fly, waking up to find I can't.